


In the year '39

by stitchy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, The Far Flung Future, Vacation, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy
Summary: Crowley had promised that they’d go on a cruise ship for one of their anniversaries.... but true to fashion, he put off actually planning for it so long that by the time he was shopping for tickets, commercial space cruises were operating, both in the local orbit and back and forth to Mars Colony.





	In the year '39

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ISpillStuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISpillStuff/gifts).



> Stitchy: I wonder if Queen has a lyric for this fic title?  
> Queen: Yeah, actually.

Sometime in the early days of their now-acknowledged romance, Crowley had promised that they’d go on a cruise ship for one of their anniversaries. True to fashion, he put off actually planning for it so long that by the time he was shopping for tickets, commercial space cruises were operating, both in the local orbit and back and forth to Mars Colony. This was all for the best, as Crowley had got his fill of sea air during a piratical stint in the 17th century, and Aziraphale was prone to fret that sand and salt would ruin his shoes. When Crowley suggested that perhaps brogues did not match a customary Aloha shirt anyway, Aziraphale took it as a challenge. So there they stood, queueing to board the _Celestial Century,_ wearing astonishingly apropos hibiscus prints from shoulder to knee, that both brogues and snakeskin boots agreed was a refreshing change of pace.

“We can always come back if we don’t like it,” said Crowley, darting his head to check what was holding up the line. Someone over the permissible amount of Martian cash, no doubt. There was some satisfaction in knowing that once it was their turn, their bags would go very quickly. They were decoys, if anything, as they could miracle up whatever they might like to have the moment they might like to have it.

Aziraphale nodded curtly. “Of course.”

More gently, Crowley repeated, “Of course.”

“I’m not nervous,” Aziraphale said, nervously.

Graciously, Crowley did not point this out. “I reckon it’ll be nice to stretch our legs a bit. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone someplace new.”

“That’s true...” Aziraphale's mind was not on picturesque, far-flung spectacles amongst the stars, but the certainty that they’d soon be sitting atop an exploding rocket built by the lowest bidder. He twisted the strap of his bag until the leather momentarily forgot itself and turned to taffy. It sagged unnoticed until the weight of his luggage thudded to the ground.

“We could still go to New Jersey instead,” said Crowley. “You’ve never been to New Jersey.”

“No! No, they know what they did,” huffed Aziraphale, stooping to collect his things.

“That’s right.” Crowley watched over the rim of his glasses as Aziraphale unzipped and checked that their bottle of wine had not broken. “It’s not like you’ve never been off Earth, before. Didn’t you work on the Comet Commission?”

Assured that all was in order, Aziraphale stood up again just in time to move ahead with the queue. “Yes, but that was when I still had Heavenly back up. I’ll note that you haven’t been out there since, either,” he sniffed.

“S’not true, I went in ‘69.”

“Did you?” Aziraphale tried to imagine Crowley bobbing around in one of those old fashioned bubble helmets, made entire of dark glass. He smiled dotingly.

Crowley shrugged. “Someone had to give Kaysing material for his conspiracy. Half a million otherwise brilliant, noble people worked indirectly on Apollo, only to have sniveling hoax-seekers grill them for the rest of their life on degrees of shadows and Why Didn’t the Flag Flap, Then?” Crowley puffed up proudly. “Soul crushing.”

A terrible thought occurred to the angel then. “You’ll behave yourself on the ship? No funny accidents, just for the thrill?”

“I’ve told you already, I had nothing to do with the _Titanic_ , I just filed the paperwork. James Cameron on the other hand...”

Aziraphale patted his arm. “Yes, dear- we’re all _very_ impressed that you manage to tweak the Oscars every year since 1966.”

“So impressed, Upstairs thought it was your doing, if I remember correctly.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale shuddered.

They shuffled the last few feet up to baggage intake, where Crowley dutifully hefted both their luggage onto the counter, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like The Lonely Goatherd.

"You're traveling a little light, aren't you?" asked the attendant, sifting through the socks Crowley had stuffed into his bag at the last minute.

"Er-" Crowley said. "Less fuel expenditure?"

The harried attendant had too long a line of people to argue, and stuffed their hands full of brochures, keycards, and a handy map of the _Celestial Century._  They were required to attend muster before seeking out their room, where they were informed of safety protocols and that statistically at least one person dies every voyage, but not to worry as it’s really just a law of large numbers thing. Nearby, a group of snowy haired travellers on a gambling vacation looked each other over, assessing their odds.

Aziraphale elbowed Crowley in the rib. “We might run into Azrael then, mightn’t we?”

“Mmm.”

The angel of Death was one of the few supernatural beings for whom space was not out of jurisdiction, and that still exchanged Christmas cards with Aziraphale (who was finally starting to relax).

After muster they unfolded the map and set out to find their cabin, which despite being nowhere near the hull, they decided ought to have windows anyway.

Aziraphale clasped his hands approvingly. “We’ll be able to see stars in bed, won’t that be nice?”

Crowley’s eyebrows briefly appeared above his glasses and he gave a dry cough. “You’re really getting into the romantic spirit of the voyage,” he said. “Next thing I know, you’ll say you’re ready for a snog.”

Aziraphale swatted him with a brochure for Couple’s Extravehicular Activities. “We’ve _only_ been an item for one hundred and twenty years,” he sighed with the sagacity of one who had yet to be convinced the horseless carriage was not a fad. “What sort of angel do you take me for?”

“D’you want me to answer that?” Crowley clutched the brochure to his chest then scanned it for tips while Aziraphale inspected the bathroom.

“It’s one of those sonic ones,” he echoed from within.

Crowley quickly paged past anything with ‘guided’ in the description. Did this cruise director think they had a human guide qualified to explain the cosmos to _them_? Not bloody likely. “Sonic wha?”

“The shower!”

“Never liked the way those felt on wings,” Crowley hissed.

Fingers snapped, and there was a sudden rush of water as a small pool that most definitely had not been accounted for in the sparing square footage of their room began to fill. The florid scent of plumeria eked into the rest of the cabin.

When Aziraphale stepped back out he was dressed a breezy linen suit and sunhat, ready to walk the observation deck. “It’ll be nice to have a dip later.”

“I had wondered why you packed my trunks.”

Aziraphale twinkled. “I wasn’t going to let a little thing like water conversation on a spaceship keep me from seeing your trunks again, my dear. It is my vacation after all.”

“Righto,” said Crowley, thinking rather fondly of Aziraphale’s tartan showercap. Taking the angel’s costume change as a cue, Crowley miracled himself into a smart dinner jacket, opened the door and offered his elbow. “Shall we see what there is to see, angel?”

“Let’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Amuly has written [a much longer sequel! ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879831/chapters/47083705) It's lovely, check it out!
> 
> I'm @stitchyarts on tumblr and twitter where I post Good Omens art and more cool things! Come say hi!


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